


Thinking Of You

by Joss_Teagan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Pining, Reunions, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joss_Teagan/pseuds/Joss_Teagan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life hasn't been the same since Sherlock Holmes took his own life. John misses him but there is a surprise in store for him, in the form of a Valentine's day card. A Johnlock ficlet so fluffy you could use it to stuff a cushion! Not beta'd so I apologise for any mistakes. I’m not affiliated with the BBC, Sherlock or Moffat and Gatiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thinking Of You

John awoke, sat up, and then slumped back in bed, his head drowning in a squashy pillow. He didn’t need to get up now, he wasn’t working until the afternoon. He realised how strange it sounded, but he missed being woken up to the sound of a screeching violin. He decided to get washed and dressed; there was no way he could go back to sleep now.

It wasn’t the violin he missed, or the body parts in the fridge or the lack of sleep. It was Sherlock, and although it had been a year since his friend took his own life, John still found himself going over every detail of that day. He knew that time was the only thing that could heal his pain, but how much time? When would he be able to hear Sherlock’s name without a sinking in his stomach and a heavy heart?

There was more to his loss than Mrs Hudson, Greg, Harry and Molly knew. Maybe Mycroft knew but in their few, awkward meetings, he’d never mentioned anything, and John wasn’t about to point it out. He had loved Sherlock. Whatever it was, obsession, sexual attraction, romantic feelings, he knew it went deeper than friendship, even the closeness they’d enjoyed hadn’t been enough. He had wanted Sherlock to love him too, but that was a pipe dream. What do you say when the person who is everything to you passes away? How could he go and get on with his life when Sherlock _was_ his life? So this was his new existence, limbo. Eating, sleeping, working and breathing, just going through the motions.

He was brought back from his grey thoughts by the sight of Mrs Hudson entering his room, bearing a tray. She’d been so good to him following Sherlock’s death, it had been hard on them both, but he didn’t want to keep being someone who had to be cared for.  She had enough to worry about, what with having to get by without Sherlock’s rent; he hated to be a burden.

“Ooh, thanks, Mrs Hudson, this is so kind of you! You shouldn’t have-”

“Oh, well I had to, but just this once, I’m not your housekeeper!”

John smiled faintly. The elderly woman gently placed the tray on his lap. John glanced down at his boiled eggs and soldiers and realised the toast was in heart shapes.  Mrs Hudson saw his puzzled face and she smiled.

“Don’t you know, John? It’s Valentine’s Day today!”

And so it was. He never used to forget dates, but these days, weeks blurred together, if it wasn’t for work and the newspaper, he’d never know what the date was.

John’s blank expression didn’t deter Mrs Hudson. She was hovering over him, fussing and trying to cheer him up, and John didn’t have the heart to tell her that was a lost cause.

“Look, I brought you your mail. You got some nice cards!”

He picked them up, looking over them wearily. He recognised the handwriting on the first one, it was Harry’s. God, she must pity him if she’d sent him a card. Inside, was a pale pink card with love hearts on and Harry had written “Have a great day! Harry x”. John put that aside and picked up the other one, a gold envelope. He scanned the front of it, his name, nothing else, but it was written in block capitals, so he couldn’t recognise the style. He opened it and a card fell out. No, not a card, a photograph. John’s eyes travelled over the image and he dropped the photo as if it was burning hot. This attracted the attention of Mrs Hudson, who had been opening the curtains to let in some light.

“John? What’s the matter?” she enquired, sweetly. John had  
no patience at this point, so pointing at the shiny photograph on the floor, he spat

“It’s a photo, someone sent me a photo. Of St Bart’s.”

“Bart’s?” Mrs Hudson’s face fell as she made the connection. “Oh, John, I’m sorry. There are some horrible people about, I’ll throw it out, you shouldn’t have to deal with things like that. Oh, and they’ve written on the back, probably some journalist wanting a story!”

“Well they’re not going to get one,” John said firmly, reaching out for the photo. “Don’t throw it out, I want to read it.”

He barely gave the photograph another glance, instead, he turned it over and read the single sentence.

**Come at once, if convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway. SH.**

 

This was a hoax, it had to be. John knew this, but there was that nagging thought in the back of his head- what if it isn’t? It’s probably a trap…but what if it isn’t? John knew he had to go.

 

 

He deliberately kept his gaze fixed straight ahead of him, when he walked up to St Bart’s. He walked straight past the receptionist, and bolted through the corridors, until he was up on the roof, the cold wind rushing past him.

A dark shape caught his eye. His heart sank. It wasn’t Sherlock. The man had his back to John, but his posture, his hair, it wasn’t John’s best friend. He cleared his throat.

“Nice trick. Making me come here. What is it you’re after then? Money? A story? I don’t have any cash and I don’t do interviews so you’re wasting your time.”

Slowly, the man turned around, heavily, as if the movement took effort. “John?” he said, in a faint whisper.

John gasped aloud. He’d recognise that face anywhere. “Sherlock?” His hair was cut shorter, and his clothes were different, a shabby jacket and jeans, but it was him. John moved closer, unaware he was doing it, needing to see Sherlock, needing to touch him to determine if he was real. His hand found Sherlock’s cheek, and he cupped his face, his hand wrapping around the sharp cheekbone. Sherlock leaned into his touch, his eyes falling shut. He looked tired, dark shadows framed his eyes. Suddenly, it clicked. This wasn’t a dream, Sherlock was here and he was alive and he was real.

“You’re- you let me think you were dead!”

“I killed them, John. Moriarty’s men. I hunted them and killed them, one by one. For you. For us. We’re safe now.”

“Safe? What do you mean?”

“I lied. When I said that I lied, _that_ was a lie. I did it to protect you, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson -my friends. So I faked my death, it was the only way I’d be free to take down Moriarty’s operation.”

“Why didn’t you take me with you?”

“Because of me, you’ve been kidnapped multiple times, strapped to a bomb, bruised and cut and had several attempts on your life. I couldn’t risk it. I know I can be selfish, but I was doing this for you. I could have done the selfish thing and stayed with you, but you would have been murdered and why? Because I don’t like being away from you.”

John didn’t let him continue. He grabbed Sherlock’s tatty jacket and pulled him down for a kiss. Sherlock was grimy, and their noses bumped, but it was better than he could have imagined. Because it was real.

“You realise I’m never going to let you go now?” John said to him, when their lips separated. Sherlock gave a shocked laugh and pulled John closer.

“I think I can live with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine’s Day, Readers! <3 Spend the day with the one you love! And if you can’t, spend your day with some Valentine’s Day themed Fanfiction! Xxx JT


End file.
